


Jack of Hearts

by Bidawee



Series: we took care of marner (mobsters AU) [5]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Mob, Brotherly Angst, Coercion, Dubious Morality, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gangs, Honeypots, M/M, Minor Character Death, No Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 03:26:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19782280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bidawee/pseuds/Bidawee
Summary: Chris promised he would look after his baby brother.





	Jack of Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> a mob au entry written in PRESENT TENSE WE DID IT BOYS. i think this is it for the series and i can't believe we've come this far. that being said, you will have to read the previous entries in the series for this to make sense. thank you to all the commenters that inspired me to write more. i wasn't thinking about adding a final part until i talked to you.  
> and a big thank you to my wonderful beta jenna who I forced to stop half way through because I felt guilty for intruding on her time! 
> 
> if you or anyone you know is in this story PLEASE TURN BACK
> 
> a more detailed list of warnings is in the end notes

**October 20, 2016**

The day his mother is admitted to the hospital, she calls Chris in for a private moment. Mitch comes with him but stays behind in the hall, scrubs on his feet; tells Chris that he needs a minute to brace himself. 

It’s hard seeing her in bed, awash in white and with dark circles under her eyes. She reaches out to him when he draws near. He can see her hands shake.

“Chris.” She has trouble speaking. Her letters slur together.

He doesn’t want to touch her. He’s afraid he will hurt her or make the pain worse. God knows she’s suffered so much already without him fucking it up.

“Is Mitch here too?” she asks. She’s too weak to gather the energy it takes to lift her head up. 

“Yeah mom, he’s outside. Do you want me to get him?”

“No, I just need you to listen to me for a minute.”

Chris pulls up a chair beside her. He wants nothing more than to forget pleasantries and push at her gently with his hand until there’s a space beside her where he can lie down. He wants to feel her hand on the back of his head, stroking his hair down, like back when they lived in Toronto.

“Yeah?”

“I need you to take care of Mitch for me while I’m sick.”

“Of course, mom.”

Her eyes narrow. “I mean it. I don’t approve of you letting him drop out of high school. He needed his friends there.”

She forgets how terrible of a school it was, with kids fighting for the right to own the books they needed to learn from. The police were weekly guests. Cafeteria food was inedible. Sure, Mitch had a circle of friends but they were hardly friendly. One of them was already in the process of getting groomed by Erie’s men and he knows that his mother knows this. When dad was still around, she would slam the gangs on her long tangents meant to knock her husband down a peg or two without needing her to yell at him directly for supporting their son’s bad decisions.

The underground is how you made a life for yourself. You can take the high road and get your high school diploma but even if you could achieve that, your job prospects are limited at best, forget postsecondary education and how expensive it is.

 _But_ this is for her and this is one of those scenarios where telling the truth will do more harm than good. He nods and squeezes her hand. Of course he’s going to look after Mitch. He already has a place for him in his little world, it just won’t win him a brother of the year award.

**May 5, 2017**

Life on the streets is never as simple as how the media portrays it. Only big, profitable organized crime groups can afford to not operate on a network. The London Knights differ. They have been around for years and for years, the gang has never made themselves into anything more than a stepping stone for the giants like the Leafs, the Canadiens, and the Senators. Rise too high in the ranks in London and you will never leave unless in a body bag. Here, people aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty. Seeing bodies in the streets becomes a rite of passage and one he has to, sadly, get his brother used to.

Chris ends his brother’s birthday party with a little box tied up in dollar store red ribbon. Mitch has just finished a modest slice of cake his mother had put on her grocery list of demands for the party, with the last box of invitees ticked by a few of Chris’ fold. They come as a package deal with tin cans and the smell of cheap, watered-down alcohol.

The stomach of the package holds nothing but a needle and a small bottle of staining liquid. Mitch does as typical and shoves his disappointment into a tiny trapdoor beside where his heart pumps. It’s far from a flattering gift, even going in with low expectations. 

Chris takes it on himself to explain why it’s so meaningful. “It’s for you, your first big tat bro,” he explains. He knows his brother can handle the responsibility now. 

As far as initiations go, it could be worse. Bless him, Mitch never shies away from something without participating first. Chris’ friends go ahead and help Mitch down into the basement. They swipe a dry rag from where it’s hung to dry on the oven handle and stuff it into Mitch’s mouth so that the homemade concoction of chemicals burning into the holes of his skin won’t send him into a series of screams. It’s uneasy seeing his face overcome with fear.

Chris is more excited about the inking than Mitch is. He has to keep reminding Mitch that this means he’s a part of something bigger. This is going to change his life forever.

**October 17, 2017**

Having that tattoo on Mitch’s back is a security measure. Just by association, he has many people there to look after him when Chris cannot. They show him the ropes and prime him for the work he’ll be doing, for the most part: smuggling. Firearms trafficking tends to be a supplementary, not a primary income for syndicates and gangs, however, London’s position by the border gives them an edge many do not. Over the years, it became their bread and butter; everyone they bring in learns how to do it. 

Now, London is losing on the front lines because their men are missing five teeth, with chins framed by unruly beards that look like they’re grown from pubic hair. No one will look twice at them unless it’s to confirm that they need to grab their purse and hold it close.

In comes Mitch, with so many freckles on his back it constitutes naming a constellation after them. Not so much charismatic but gentle to a fault: Mitch is the perfect Trojan horse. The rumours that pass about him all have a bit of truth to them; as a bit of an experiment, Chris and Mitch spent a night in one of the pool table bars downtown that some of their leads frequent and got their fair share of drinks. Older men close in on someone they think is pretty and the younger men see one of their own and are up front in conversation.

For months, Mitch was doing his job well enough driving vehicles for them, now it’s time to change up the game. His advisor tells him as such, wanting to bring Mitch in for bigger operations: social networking, he says. 

Mitch is less supportive of the decision, go figure. Not that Chris expected he would ever turn a new leaf but after all he’s done for him, some gratitude would be nice.

“It’s for our own good, c’mon, Mitch,” Chris says. He never said exactly what it was he was asking of Mitch but it’s pretty hard to miss.

Mitch is keeping his arms close to his chest. He doesn’t answer Chris, turning his head to the side.

“Mitch, we need you to do this.”

“I’m not sleeping with people for you. That’s so fucking wrong, oh my God!”

People who don’t go into escort work of their own volition have a word for what he’s proposing: sexual slavery. That being said, this isn’t his decision, it’s someone else’s from above. Him breaking the news is doing Mitch a favour; Chris is the messenger and being his older brother, it gives Mitch the opportunity to get his anger out in a way he could never if he was talking to someone higher up in the organization.

Chris tries again. “It’s not going to be an everyday thing. It’s like, what, three or four big guys in a year, tops? That plus some sweet talking to some chumps?” He throws his hands up in the air. “All I’m saying is that mom is really sick right now and we need all the money we can get. Your commission could keep her in recovery.”

“Don’t use that against me.”

“I’m just saying.”

“I’m not going to do something for the sake of your ego. How could you even suggest something like that for me?” 

Mitch can’t help picking at the things he knows will make Chris tick. In that sense, he was wrong about his little brother not being scrappy. He is, just not in the way Chris wants him to be. 

“What did you think was going to happen? You’re already shit at target practice so it’s not like you’re going to be on the frontlines, don’t kid yourself.”

“Those are totally different things.”

“Look, you have to do at least something. Just be there for Toronto and we’ll see what happens, okay? It’s easy. You don’t even need to take him to bed, just get a deal made.”

The compromise does as good compromises do and gets an agreement from Mitch. Chris is there for his brother, coaching him on what to say and do, who they might send and what they want to hear. It’s just like what he would do for Mitch when they had math tests in elementary school, only with far bigger stakes at hand.

So: Mitch is there building deals from the ground up in Buffalo and in Erie, before moving on to Toronto. A lot of it is dumb luck, that whoever gets sent from the other side will be easy for Mitch. Most of them are. 

At the end of the day, it was a good call. It’s the best protection Chris can give him. Where he is, Mitch isn’t in on the big plans they have, so holding a gun to his head is not going to get much out of him. The incentive to hurt Mitch is low. He doesn’t stand out.

**January 4, 2018**

Toronto specializes in low risk, high reward insurance fraud. Their enterprise is largely contained in the rich suburbs: the pinnacle of white-collar crime. The dominant members sit in their high rise office buildings, sipping lukewarm tea over the gold rims of their porcelain cups with a cigarette in hand.

Defrauding the insurance industry is romanticized to everyone on the outside looking in. Those that work on the company front prescribe bad medicine to the wealthy businessmen who chug back a gin and tonic, ice cubes and all. Staged automobile accidents and denied benefits, it’s all in the name and they’re good at what they do.

So, they’re paramount to collaborating with. London needs the money now that the market for firearms is beginning to cool. It’s a digital Renaissance; the deep web breeds more demons than the police can hope to squash. With no digital paper trail, it’s like stealing candy from a baby. Some groups, Seattle and Vegas primarily, start tapping into ransomware to bleed the head honchos dry. With the numbers they’re pulling in, London’s a lamb headed for the slaughter with all four legs rope tied on the totem pole. They’re not needed anymore.

In the 60s and 70s, their practice had its fair share of movies depicting teenagers throwing glocks around. Paul always found they hit a sweet spot and streamed them half past ten: none the wiser to the pairs of eyes watching the television through a slip in the door. That early fascination condemned his sons for life. 

People are less inclined to twirl a gun now. That doesn’t mean people don’t need them, just that the legitimate market has seen its own successes grow. The one saving grace is that Toronto can’t just go in and buy the floor out without people getting suspicious. There is a mutual need on both sides for an agreement, so each gang (or mob in Toronto’s case, as they love being traditionalists) send in about seven men each to meet in London for preparations. 

They’re not blessed with Dubas but Babcock does make a grand appearance. He’s becoming rather delusional with his old age--fast acting dementia maybe--and coughs into a handkerchief every two minutes. His seeing eye dog, Rielly, takes the lead and seats him. His followers sit down around them.

There’s someone new at the table, with black hair that falls down on his face. He takes notes the entire meeting while periodically switching between the pen and his black coffee. Chris can’t help but notice how different he is from the men he’s with--with just enough tooth to not be born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Toronto is doing their best to pass him off as one of their own, to varying degrees of success.

He catches Chris looking at him and trades him a long look. He must have seen Chris somewhere, or thinks he has. He looks at him the way middle-aged mothers do each other at the grocery store. It makes him look like he needs glasses.

Chris is flushing his mouth with cold water from the Culligan they have in the building when the kid walks up to him, hands in his back pockets--a trait that Toronto hasn’t beat out of him yet. It takes him a while to say much of anything, so much that Chris skips right to confrontation to avoid wasting any more time waiting on him.

“Out with it.” he barks. 

“You're Chris, right?”

“Yeah? What of it?”

He doesn’t want to get propositioned right now, when he’s in sight of rising up the ranks and finding himself with a bigger payout. He’s not going to fall on the sword for talking to his kid.

“I just wanted to introduce myself. I'm Auston--”

“Why? We’re not friends.”

“--Matthews. I uh, know your brother, Mitch.”

This kid couldn't possibly have come by Mitch on the street and offered to carry his groceries. Mitch is part of their infantry, he doesn’t go anywhere without Chris knowing first.

“How do you know Mitch?”

The kid smiles, like he thinks he's being cute. “How do you think this deal got made?”

Chris sees red. It’s different knowing what Mitch does behind closed doors but having the proof of it right here in front of him makes him nasty.

“Fuck off. You don't mean anything to Mitch and you sure as hell don't mean anything to me. Don’t come talk to me again.”

At the response, the kid looks like a kicked puppy. He came to the playground expecting to make friends, that was probably the first mistake. There won’t be a second one after this.

Auston--that’s the kid’s name, Auston--is still young and still new to the whole operation. He’s easy to order around because he hasn’t had the time to dedicate himself to the cause. He’s not going to get defensive. He’s not going to ask questions.

Chris, on the other hand, does have some footing. He’s protecting his brother from the likes of the people on the other side, the businessmen, _devils,_ in suits and ties. Even as new as he is, Auston should know by now that he shouldn’t be getting comfortable with the enemy. Business deal or not, they’re not partners.

**May 11, 2019**

If a honeypot is good at their job, they don’t need to take their clothes off. Mitch is good at his job. He’s familiar with the keywords he has to use to get the job done. If his brother is having sex, Chris knows nothing about it. Mitch could very well be but at this point, it doesn’t seem like it’s come to that yet. The only thing Chris fears is when it does.

Of course, there is always someone there to flank Mitch and make sure he’s okay. Knights travel in groups, after all--maybe not noticeable but always there. Chris is not there in person but he’s at the family home making sure his brother is fed and clothed, for their mother. Some nights, he can even wash his hands of Mitch and go out to check inventory, usually when Mitch is behind the wheel with the best investment they could get him, a driver’s license. 

Mitch is his little brother but he’s not little anymore. The years have been good to him, as good as they can be given their living situations. Not everyone is going to make something of themselves and he tells Mitch as such. Reaching for a life that won’t reach back will just give you wasted years. From the looks of it, Mitch understands. He doesn’t stick his neck out like he did when they first got him on.

Meanwhile, Chris gets his first taste of the fruits he’s been nurturing. He gets to sit in on the big meetings and work the pyramid until the people under him are able to generate enough revenue for him to get his own place. More people than ever are on his side and London is making a name for itself. It’s too bad his brother proved to be inept at drive-bys and armed assault--not that he expected that _wouldn’t_ be the case--because otherwise he could be beside him, doing these kinds of things.

That night, he wears his one good suit for a wine and dine with some Leafs. It’s the usual crew, Matthews included. Looks like the kid wasn’t a fad. He’s there with an older man and a kid about his age, mid to late twenties at best. The new recruits always look like kids to Chris and he’s not alone in thinking like that. 

Auston Matthews is strange. Sometimes he says things and it’s obvious he doesn’t know what they mean and is just regurgitating what his superiors are telling him. That being said, it doesn’t impede his ability to come to the table knowing what he wants and then doing what he can to get it. He’s a bit like McDavid, in that way.

The topic of discussion that night is about embargos. Toronto wants Ottawa out of the weapons circle. A blockade would be in their best interests. As the main gang responsible for smuggling weapons into the province, London could help make it happen, _bleed_ the Senators dry. London has to weigh whether or not the lost revenue is worth staying on Toronto’s good side.

These occasions come with the treat of good food. They order in cheesy garlic bread and soft drinks with lemons wedged on the rims. When Chris looks up from his food, Matthews is there, knife and fork balancing precariously on his plate. He ordered no main course and only had one piece of garlic bread.

“Aren’t you going to eat anything else?” 

It’s pretty rude to go to a social gathering and just poke at the appetizers.

“I have plans for after this.”

“He’s got a date,” the younger, brown-haired Leaf says. Matthews pushes him with his shoulder.

“Shut up,” he says. There’s a smile in his words that doesn’t show on his face.

People in their situation tend to not be open about their relationships, so it gets a few raised eyebrows. Matthews pushes the conversation back to where they want London to set up checkpoints. He’s the best one at keeping them on track and it’s almost sad to see him leave unceremoniously once they’ve got an agreement. Chris can’t help but be curious about who he’s seeing in _London_ of all places.

His mind wanders to Mitch but his brother is out working at one of the gas stations, skimming cards for PIN numbers they can sell online. He’s safe. 

Toronto pushes them around a lot that night, gets them to sign over their souls. When big brother asks for a favour you go along with it, even if you don’t know whether or not you can cash it in later. Chris follows the leader and his leader follows that leader, so on and so forth.

Mitch comes home later that night with a box of leftovers. Chris could and does go in to yell at him for spending money on food he doesn’t need and is unhealthy for him. He yells at Mitch for a long time to get those frustrations out. Mitch is a dandelion that night, he pops right back after Chris leaves with a small, secret smile.

**June 20, 2019**

Mitch fixes the problems with his sex life with more sex, a bandaid solution that makes Chris shake. He finds a pair of boxers in Mitch’s bedroom that aren’t his when he’s picking up laundry and feels the blood vessels in his face pop. 

Mitch finally had to do it, sleep with a client when it came down to it. It’s difficult to so much as look at his reflection for a week when Mitch comes home for the first time, disgusted with himself.

In practice, it's an arbitrary job that needs to be filled, just as necessary as grunt work without the refurbished look to it on newspaper articles. His advisor gives him nothing but praise on behalf of Mitch and he’s able to sustain himself on that. As for the gory details, it's not his business to ask. Ignorance is bliss, after all.

That is, until he comes home with some get well presents for their trip to the hospital tomorrow and he sees Mitch on the ratty couch. His knees are purple and there’s a print on his neck that looks like it was made with teeth. He looks a bit too beat up in the spots where it matters for it to be a coincidence. 

He doesn’t revel in having Mitch do things for him when it makes him look like this. He opens the floor, brings in the wrapped flowers and lets his little brother touch the blooms. It’s the prettiest thing they have in the flat, with mouldy walls and ceiling panels falling down on them.

Their mother has another expensive surgery next week. Mitch coughs up the money for it, from where Chris has little idea. The best outcome for Mitch is him doing a good job and getting paid for it. Between talking up executives and driving weapons over the border when they need him to, Mitch is self-supporting on many levels now. 

He has no will to know anything about Mitch’s life that doesn’t concern him, as he should.

**February 1, 2020**

Mitch keeps his mouth shut about what’s going on during one of their mother’s rare visits home from the care centre. They help her up the stairs and to the room they’ve made up in her likeness. Chris has with him gluten-free ice cream cake that they’ve cut into four pieces, one for each of them and the fourth for the fridge for when she gets hungry.

“I’m so happy to see you both again,” she says as she brings them into a hug. “My boys.”

In her arms, Mitch looks like a little kid again. This is one of those instances where showing emotion helps keep their mother in check, having her think they’re doing fine by themselves, if only missing her a lot.

Oh, she will continue to say that they should go back to school but there’s no money anywhere for it to happen, even with government benefits. Chris and Mitch are two grown men, so there’s no real sympathy for them in the system. Mitch feeds into it, helping their mother fall asleep by talking about his dream of making it and getting a degree in the arts. 

Chris is grateful for Mitch being able to get her in peace of mind, and even more grateful that his brother has finally come to terms that his dreams of making it are just that: dreams.

**November 14, 2020**

There comes a time when the ship Chris stands on capsizes. He loses his brother.

Mitch has a bad time with an underboss from Winnipeg, it shows in his eyes. There isn't a nervous habit that Mitch hasn't picked up, what with the nail biting and head wringing, but the tears are by far the worst. It makes his whole face scrunch up.

“Chris,” Mitch begins, and it's so unbecoming of him. He's an adult, by now he should've grown a pair. 

Chris has got bigger problems on his back: the paperwork for mom’s hospital stay keeps breeding at the foot of the door. That, and the week-long meeting they have with Toronto; it’s breathing down the back of his neck.

“Do I have to keep doing this?” Mitch asks. He takes a seat across from Chris, like it will make a difference being on his level.

“You wanted to,” Chris says. There's a mean streak in his voice; it burrows inside of his chest and makes a home.

“I don't anymore.”

“You think I don’t get tired of my job? Get over it.”

It should be the end of the conversation but Mitch chooses to linger at the table. He stays there until Chris gives him the attention he wants.

Chris gets a good look at his brother. His hair is getting long in the back and at the sides. His personal grooming is lacking now. He looks ugly. Not objectively, at least not in the face. It’s the appearance of hopelessness that dulls Mitch’s skin grey and sucks the breath out of him. 

“Look, I don't have time to deal with this right now. If you're gonna fucking cry, go do it to someone else okay?”

“Chris--”

“Mitch, get the fuck out, okay?” He inserts a laugh in between his words. “I don’t have time to keep coddling you. You do this every single time. I’m tired of it, okay? You act like you’re the only one who has problems. If it’s so bad, then fine, go tell someone, just don’t come crying to me when you lose a finger.”

He sends Mitch out, red-faced and still crying. He has no idea where Mitch will go but expects to see him home for dinner. They won’t talk. He will make Mitch a plate and they will eat in their separate rooms. The dining hall here will never see a family dinner. It’s something akin to a fairytale in the Marner name.

Chris decides to stay overnight and save himself the trouble of wrestling through traffic at five in the morning tomorrow. Without mom around the empty corridors whine. The fridge is unstocked and the bagged milk will go bad any day now; he doesn't risk tampering with the plastic mouth. 

Mitch comes home later that night and he's not Mitch, he’s someone else’s. The subtle but telling red lines marking up his biceps are one thing but it’s the tailored seam jacket strung across his shoulders that really grabs at Chris’ attention.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

Mitch appears visibly on end. “What are you still doing here?”

“Where were you?”

Mitch’s eyebrows drop. “Why do you care?”

“Answer the question.”

“Fuck off.” Mitch stomps toward his room.

“Mitch!” The door slams in Chris’ face.

Luckily for Mitch, he feels too bad about what he said earlier to try the door and start the fight all over again. He’s also thinking about something else, about how someone on the side was there for Mitch, opened up their arms and took him in. Normally, he’d be pleased to know his brother is making connections. The novelty of the jacket is what keeps him from turning back to what he was doing. It’s out of place in their world.

He sneaks into the bedroom when the lights are off and Mitch is asleep. His fingers scrape the fabric and recoil. The stitching is done professionally. It’s cold to the touch.

**September 20, 2021**

Chris can’t live in the family house anymore, not when Mitch is so vile toward him. He lets his brother figure out how to be self-sufficient the way he did, through experience. If the heating bill doesn’t get paid it’s because he’s not working hard enough or is being careless with his money. If he has to take two-minute showers to save a few dimes, then so be it.

Every once in a while he might go down to one of the warehouses in London and see Mitch sorting through shipments, hands black with soot and dirt. He doesn’t look up at Chris when he passes, just continues a back and forth with Kadri, who’s got the books in one hand, keeping stock.

He knows his brother frequents bars a lot now, working on recruitment. It’s never a position Chris would put him in; Mitch is such a skeptic about everyday life in the gang that it feels like he would only pass those insecurities onto anyone interested in joining it. He can’t speak to the success rate of Mitch’s attempts but if he’s still there after a month or two, it must be working out for him.

This isn’t an operation like in Toronto or Montreal where you have something you’re good at and you do it for the rest of your life until you drop dead. London is about being versatile. If a spot opens and someone needs to fill it, you volunteer. He is glad to see Mitch warming up to that line of work again, even if his business as an escort didn’t work out in his favour.

He takes his eye off of Mitch and focuses it on where it needs to be. He’s got an on-again-off-again girlfriend he buys drinks for downtown and a promotion in London that sees him taking part in the talks in Toronto and then Buffalo. If all goes to plan, they will be able to pit the two against each other and have them fight for the right to be buying shipments from London. It will let them negotiate the price of weapons to be higher than it already is. He’s confident in his ability to succeed where others have not, even if the Knights are the underdogs.

It goes without a hitch, save for the hour he spends having to hunt down Kadri because he’s not by the ice machine like he said he’d be. Two hours after they were supposed to meet, Kadri comes up to him out of breath and with little to say.

As far as interrogations go, Chris’ is pretty bad. He’s out of it and drunk on scotch. Kadri makes a run for his room and Chris lets Kadri turn his back on him, for the first and only time. He sees the flash of gold on Kadri’s arm as he closes the door behind himself.

Chris goes back to his motel room and lets his fingers poke at his own tattoo, wearing down around the ends. He wants to get it touched up.

**November 4, 2023**

A great fear sits with the Knights. After a year of having the rug pulled out from under them, the Leafs now know that they’re talking to other groups and are acting appropriately. As Erie rises in power, their position is beginning to become compromised. People are disappearing and Leafs agents are coming over to sit on their side of the table but continue to speak for the other’s. In plain view for the world to see, they are being infiltrated. They’re doing everything they can to hold on.

It isn’t like London was ever a separate entity from Toronto. Many a young person come out of London wanting something more and go to the big cities for that opportunity to be and do something great. Occasionally, you’ll see someone with two different tattoos on their back. More often than not, those people are never heard from again. Some do make it, however Chris won’t be one of them. He intends to stay until the end.

Then there’s Auston Matthews, who is becoming rich and with it, unstable. He remains one of the younger ones but has also become one of the most dangerous. Matthews can outsmart him now, has done it twice on paper with Chris only receiving word of it from down the chain of command. He has a way of saying things and meaning the opposite but sounding genuine all the same.

Matthews looks at him plenty but is short on word supply today. He hangs behind when the room clears, pretending to be arranging papers. Sometimes, a person doesn’t need to do anything for you to hate them. It takes just the suspicion.

“You should take better care of your brother, Chris.”

Matthews can’t keep his mouth shut, that’s Chris’ problem with him.

“What the fuck do you know about my brother?”

“For starters, he has no heat in his apartment. Might want to look into that.” Matthews continues straightening the stack of papers beside the binder he carried in with them.

Chris puts both hands down on the table and leans in. “You stay the fuck away from Mitch. He doesn’t need your help.”

“Doesn’t he?” Matthews picks up his briefcase. “See you next month.”

**August 3, 2024**

Chris and Mitch come together for one thing. To bury their mother. 

They don’t bury her, per se. It’s too expensive and they don’t have the money. Instead, they cremate her remains and make the two-hour drive to grandpa’s old cottage up north. Someone else lives there now, Paul sold it to them when the family went bankrupt to keep their heads above water. It’s summer, so the weather is asking for cottagers to be up and tanning. 

The family is home, but pack the kids up in their old minivan to leave about an hour in to Chris and Mitch’s wait. The area is wooded and the two brothers park the car around the bend where they won’t be seen. The two share a bag of chips while they wait. It’s Mitch who points out the car leaving the driveway.

When the coast is clear, Chris and Mitch exit the car and lock the doors behind them. They walk around the chained up dog, who barks up a storm when he sees them, and sit on the dock, feet touching the water.

They scatter the ashes on the lake, their mother’s favourite place to be. He watches the flecks of grey and black bob in the water before disappearing entirely. It takes away the last remnants of their mother, who fought until the very end.

**April 30, 2025**

The last time Chris sees his brother is when Mitch is showing him mercy.

He gets into it bad with a few Mississauga guys and one blow to his ear has him lose partial hearing, though whether it’s temporary or permanent he has yet to find out. He remembers foaming at the mouth, doing everything in his power to protect his vital organs. His own body was working against him and in the fight to free himself sustained a few blows to the face. The lady at the walk-in clinic he goes to pales when she sees him.

He’s lucky that that’s the only thing they did to him. He could have been shot dead. Being on the losing end is never fun and it comes with it the fear that it will happen again. He can’t fall asleep in his own apartment after the fact.

Mitch still lives in the family apartment, in a rough neighbourhood, down by the diner. He knows Mitch frequents it from all the foil wrappers he sees in the trash bins, stomped down on with a foot. Chris would go back to his own place but feeling safe in his own skin is the priority here, so that doesn’t seem like a good idea. Being in the company of his own bedroom will be nice too.

He’s not paying rent nor contributing much of anything to Mitch’s quality of life but it’s good to see his brother again. His girlfriend is a peach. He’s got a job that isn’t something criminal code would try to prosecute. For all the times he remembers laughing at Mitch’s long tangents about making something of himself, this is one of the only times he can admit defeat. He was wrong.

It will be nice while it lasts but he knows how these things end. The girlfriend will find out and freak, the family will not want a criminal working for them, and Mitch will be on his doorstep with nothing to do and nowhere to go, holding onto the remnants of a time when he was in control.

Chris could but he won’t say anything. His brother didn’t have to show him any hospitality. He should be grateful for what he’s got, so he is.

In the recovery stage, he spends a lot of time on the living room couch. He will help Mitch with unpacking groceries or straightening out the bed but their guest bedroom seldom sees use now that their mother is gone. Chris’ bedroom has become storage but for a good reason, with the structure of the room being called into question because of the last snow they had, the last place Chris wants to sleep in is there. 

Mitch is out most of the day, leaving Chris alone with the very small television that has to be about twenty years old now for company. The only other piece of furniture in the room is a folding chair and a small table that they can fit a few glasses and plates on. 

It all comes to head on the Friday. Mitch said nothing about getting any visitors that morning, so the knock on the door comes as a surprise. The first time around, Chris does nothing and only stands to answer when the visitor makes it clear they won’t be leaving him alone. He has his doubts about their intentions; no one around these parts are asking for donations or selling thin mint cookies. Chris doesn’t want them to think no one is home so they can welcome themselves in, a kinder way of saying he doesn’t want Mitch to be robbed. 

Chris locks the door using the security chain and opens it as much as it lets him so that the person can’t force their way in if they mean trouble. He would use the peephole, if it was in working order.

It’s Matthews. A different version of him. It isn’t until he hears the sound of his voice that Chris can come to place what’s so different.

Lipstick on a pig. A rise in the ranks, promotions of the best kind, have come to treat the boy with golden opportunities. Chris is no stranger to seeing him now and his opinion of him is yet to improve. It’s going in the opposite direction, thanks to jealousy. 

His teeth could bite through solid bone right now. “Why are you here?” 

“I was in town.”

“Why are you visiting Mitch?” he reiterates. 

“I just told you.”

“Give me a straight fucking answer.”

Matthews says nothing directly to him. He stands on the edge of his toes and looks over Chris’ head. His poking around leads him to conclude that Mitch is not home. He turns his back on Chris and leaves.

Chris follows him out to the hallway. “Why the fuck are you visiting my brother?”

Matthews is gone in a flash. Chris can see how his jacket bulges out at the hip. He doesn’t want to think about what they’re arming him with. It’s probably something that London has brought in, something powerful. Toronto men are not the big bad wolves of the criminal underbelly. Nothing about them is dirty, not even their kills.

Questioning Mitch about why he’s friends with Matthews goes nuclear. Chris gets thrown out of the home and Mitch is clear that he’s not welcome back. In a week’s time, Mitch has already has put a notice up that he’s going to be moving apartments. He doesn’t give Chris his new address.

What makes Chris sick is the thought of continued sexual relations. Mitch is doing what he asked him to but with the wrong guy. He’s got something good going with Matthews, so much that a day later when London, Toronto, and Erie come together to discuss how to deal with border crossings in the new system, he’s able to find out right from the horse’s mouth how well Mitch has done.

“I take him out to dinner all the time, your brother is looked after,” Matthews says.

It’s quickly spiralling out of control. Once upon a time, Chris had Mitch eating out of the palm of his hand. All of that power is gone now. Matthews seems to notice. He’s openly mocking Chris for it. 

Matthews continues, “he’s an adult, Chris. He can make his own decisions.”

Chris grits his teeth. “You think you’re so smart, aren’t you? You’re nothing but a liar. You’re dressing yourself up and living the fantasy but it’s just there to hide how rotten you really are, taking advantage of him like this.”

“Very hypocritical of you to say that, seeing as how you’re the problem here.”

Chris can’t help but jump for the trap that Matthews sets. “Say that again.”

“You’re at a point where you are so possessive over him that you can’t stand someone else being his first choice. You would rather tear everything around him down then let him be happy with people that actually care about him. What a great brother you are.”

Chris comes so close to clocking him in the face. He can’t. It will only cost him and the organization he stands for. Not to mention, anything he does to Matthews will get back to Mitch and push him back into his arms. 

It’s a better idea to tighten his lips into a smile. That way, he can at least pretend he’s in control of himself. “I’m far better than you. Who sleeps with someone who has a girlfriend? You don’t think he actually gives a rat’s ass about you, right?”

It sends Matthews for a loop. Chris can see him slowly connect the dots.

“If Mitch needs me, then he needs me.” The answer is as fake as he is.

“But he doesn’t need you. Move on.”

He hears the paper crunch from under Matthews’ fingers. “You don’t know anything.” He leaves soon after.

It doesn’t take a genius to know he hit a sore spot. Chris is afraid but for more than one reason now. Mitch would never believe him but something about Matthews is off. Any other person in Matthews’ position would wear having sex with a taken man as a compliment. Matthews sees it as a challenge.

**September 3, 2025**

Chris is buzzed out of his mind when he hears the news that Mitch is leaving London. It gets ugly between him and his bedroom wall. All he can say is, he’s glad his mother is not here to see him like this.

Mitch’s unofficial leave of absence makes other people look at Chris funny. Even if he isn’t the one behind the decision or even up there supporting it, by association the verdict is that he is guilty. It’s unfair. He doesn’t like being passed up on work that could benefit him if it could be avoided.

Now, everyone wants to talk to him. Kadri, Mikey, Chucky, you name it. They’ve all got something to say and he doesn’t want to hear any of it. Some are so backwards as to believe they’re helping him by bringing up every way Mitch has been a disappointment to him thus far.

The fight north of Division Street is fresh in Chris’ mind; a summary of Mitch’s involvement in London. He’s not going around calling people who back out from shooting a man weak, that’s not it. It’s not easy but when someone asks you to do it, you do it. 

Chris moves back into the family apartment and spends a lot of time with his thoughts. It’s been seven months since the fight happened and he can’t stop thinking about it, about how it was probably the straw that broke the camel’s back. The fact that his associate didn’t even need to finish the story for Chris to know his brother backed out says so much. He knows his brother, it’s why he put Mitch on a train going in the opposite direction for so long.

**December 9, 2025**

London falls.

It falls in fire and in screams. Chris sees men with their heads shot out in front of his very eyes.

It comes in the form of the Leafs. The infestation knows no bounds, worming out from the inside of the group and taking a high body count with it. Contacts are deleted from his phone in a blink of an eye. His friends ghost him. You can’t trust anyone when the city is falling.

He spends many nights wide awake in the family apartment, a place once occupied with smiles and laughs, with a dresser pushed in front of the front door to keep it from opening. He has nothing to bar the windows with but improvises by pushing the stick from a decapitated broom up on the ledge where the pull strings sit so that the pane won’t open. 

He does one big food run, buys all the non-perishables off of the shelf, and holes up in what was once Mitch’s bedroom. He waits for the knock on the door that could be a friend or a foe. It could be someone he knows or just someone that knows his name.

If someone wants him dead, they’re taking their sweet time. Everyone he knows disappears except him. The longer he waits, the more fearful he becomes.

It’s the best way to kill a man, really. Fill his head with doubts and insecurities, leave everything up to ambiguity and then let his own fear consume him and pollute his mind. It’s a slow death. It’s not a martyr’s death. No one remembers the man that shoots himself in the head; he makes no headlines.

Mitch is the nucleus at the centre of it. Where he could be, when he’s made his allegiance clear, is what keeps Chris up the most. It wouldn’t be fair for someone who despises gang life to die at the hands of it. Call it bias all you will, but Chris would argue that the underlings should get the biggest show of mercy. Having never made it up, they hoard no treasures but yet they die the first deaths. They’re the ones who haven’t made enough mistakes for their mothers to disown them yet, who still have dreams of their own.

Only the lucky few make it out, those with connections. Mitch is not small but he’s not big. He doesn’t put up a fight when he should and he tries to see the best in everyone. He’s like moulding clay.

His father is gone, his mother is dead, and now Mitch probably is too. Chris can’t say why _he’s_ not dead yet, what angel from above is looking out for him. Some might call that a blessing. It’s not a blessing. It’s a curse.

**December 18, 2025**

Mitch’s girlfriend is a dainty thing, much like he is. She’s got a thin nose that curves at the tip. It’s winter and she’s only in a sweater and high boots, with mittens too big for her hands and in a pinstripe pattern that only helps make them look smaller. 

He stops her at the entrance to her apartment. He doesn’t mean to look creepy but if there’s even a chance that Mitch is living in-house and everything is okay, he wants to be sure of it. Sadly, it doesn’t look like that’s the case.

“Are you Mitch’s brother?” she asks him. He knows she can see the resemblance. Her checking in is arbitrary. 

“I am.”

“Where is he? I haven’t seen him in a week. He won’t answer his phone.”

He doesn’t want to tell her that Mitch is probably dead in a gutter somewhere. He goes for the safe option of: “I haven’t seen him either.”

It doesn’t look to deter her. “Would you come with me to report it? If you haven’t already, that is.”

Chris has so many other things he could be doing with his time, like worrying about how he’s supposed to live without a primary source of income. It’s _pity_ that has him follow her like a lost puppy to the station. He presents his case with her to the police with as much evidence as he can pointing to a missing person and not a murder. I

They leave empty handed. Simply put, no one is going to put out the resources to look for a poor boy on the poor streets, particularly not when the figure out his brother is a gang member and by association, he could very well be too. Combine that with the exhausted resources because of the gang wars and extermination of the London Knights and the police are spread thin. 

Mitch’s name dies on those last sheets of paper, filed away as a missing person but one never to be found. No one is going to miss a gang member, after all.

**January 3, 2026**

Life goes on without his brother. Mitch’s new apartment contract expires and his girlfriend moves back in with her parents because she can’t contribute to rent alone. Chris doesn’t have the money to renew it, ending with him out on the streets when his lack of savings means he can’t afford to keep the family home either. Spending time in a shelter sucks the humanity out of him. The parts of him still left functioning are dull in colour and shape. He sleeps less than ever, one eye on his few belongings at the foot of his bed so they don’t get stolen.

He wants to torch whoever decides to vouch for him when the attacks on London were happening. He’s not stupid, he knows he wasn’t accidentally forgotten about. Someone made the conscious decision to leave him alive. To pick at his wounds. To drain the blood from his face. 

It’s probably a sick joke. That’s the only thing that makes sense anymore. It’s fun to laugh at someone who’s down. It comes at no risk or expense to you. Plus, no one will be able to speak to what happened to London if there were no survivors. He alone gets to bear that burden. 

**February 9, 2026**

Chris gets a text in February from an unknown number.

_Hi. I’m safe and I miss you. Please don’t keep looking for me, I’m okay. Be safe._

He knows it’s Mitch. He knows it in his bones. Who but Mitch to write out a message as a hostage and use proper grammar.

Him not being dead means abduction. Mitch wouldn’t move away and leave everything behind, that would be unprecedented. He had a girlfriend and a new life that he very much liked. Call Chris paranoid but it makes him feel better to think of his brother not as a runaway but a victim. His options are few and far between, clients with a crush, the higher-ups, a rival gang for extortion, and then the one face he can’t help but feel watching him from the back of his head. He works backwards from there.

Matthews is starting to go public with the new ideas for the firm he works for. He’s young and successful, got the money to make people come to him and then make them disappear when they aren’t needed anymore. Chris finds it easy to believe his brother walked into the spider’s web and then couldn’t get out. 

He has no doubt in believing that Matthews turned on Mitch after leaving him for someone else. He probably beat the poor boy, starved him to skin and bones, and plagued him with thoughts of death and destruction.

So much for understanding.

He texts the number Mitch used again and again. No one responds. Chris is alone with his words. They haunt him with what he could have said and didn’t.

The missed connection gives him a lot of time to think about what happened between Mitch and Matthews and what he thinks is the plan responsible for the mess they’re in. The red flags he didn’t see or didn’t wish to see come back to haunt him. They help put together the full picture.

It’s a picture of a boy who lets someone he thinks is like him into his house, someone who comes for the sex and stays because the boy is vulnerable. He gets to play the role of husband and treat his boy with money only for the boy to move on with someone who’s not as good but not bad either, who tells him it’s not personal when in fact, it’s very personal. That someone’s feelings live inside his head, inside a nursery where the everyday happenings of an underground crime ring give him the option to take of them the old fashioned way. He will meet with the boy one last time, his feelings now having mutated into something dangerous, and hold the boy’s head under water so that he will be the only one to have him.

The last part hasn’t happened yet. Matthews is biding his time. For how long, it looks like neither of them know. 

**February 15, 2026**

Reenergized by the new form of contact, he brings his case back to the police, no longer as a missing person but an abduction case.

This time, they actually listen to him, as the evidence is mounting. Mitch having not continued payments to his landlord and not giving a week’s notice to his employer on top of leaving behind his brother, girlfriend, and media presence (what little of it he did have) all point fingers to there being something wrong.

It still takes a lot of negotiating to get an investigation going. They call up a police district in Toronto and have them follow up on the address Chris gives them: a spot in the middle of the high rise apartments downtown that he knows house only people that are in the Leafs circle, for their own protection. He gives them his most recent picture of Mitch, from his nineteenth birthday party. It’s the one time he let himself have a picture of someone from his family on his phone, knowing that anything else would make them targets. Besides for a few more scars and nicks, Mitch looks about the same as he did back then, close enough to identify him.

He’s not sure what Matthews did to Mitch, whether that picture holds up anymore. It makes him sick just thinking about it as a possibility.

Days later, they call him in. Their grim faces already set the scene. They have Chris take a seat before they begin to explain.

“He said he wanted to stay there, of his own volition.”

Flabbergasted, it takes a second for Chris to arrange his thoughts. “Are you sure you talked to Mitch and not the owner of the house?”

“The police spoke with both of them. Their stories matched. You have been given some misinformation about his whereabouts but rest be assured, he’s fine.”

He can’t help that it makes his temper blow, having him stamp his hands down on the table as a way to express his anger. “He’s been held captive there! Can’t you see he’s in danger?”

“If he wants to stay and there are no evident signs of abuse there is nothing that we can do, I’m sorry.”

There’s no combination of words he can use to describe the _contempt_ he feels for those officers. It’s not Chris’ fault that he trashes the papers they have out on the table or slams the door shut hard enough to make the wall rock. They should have done their job. It’s so obvious that there’s something wrong.

Matthews didn’t get to the position that he’s in by being an idiot, of course he’s not going to leave any physical evidence for them to pick at. If only the police could use their critical thinking skills for a change, he might not be in this situation.

Mitch is alive in the same way Chris is alive. He is, but he’s not. 

**July 10, 2026**

Chris stays busy working late shifts at a chain grocery store. He enters an apartment contract with four other men, one of whom invites him after they meet at the nearby gym--Chris there for a shower and him there to work out--and gets the ball rolling. He gets by on handouts and buying whatever he can in bulk at his job with the added employee discount. When people ask him why he doesn’t spend the night at a friend’s or family member’s place, he laughs at them.

His phone is the most expensive thing he owns and he’s already on a small package plan that only lets him take calls and shoot off a small number of texts to pick up shifts at work with. He waits on the number he has under Mitch’s name for updates. 

He gets nothing back.

**October 18, 2026**

For a while, he stops thinking about Mitch. When people ask about family, he says he’s an only child. It’s a much easier explanation than going into anything marginally close to being the truth. He becomes comfortable with the notion; his guilt begins to subside. 

He gets no word from the street on Mitch’s planned escape from the Matthews household before it happens. When it does, he’s surprised to find out he’s one of if not the first person to find out whose name is not Auston. Otherwise, it’s a typical day for him. He was out dropping off resumes at some of the small businesses in the area, the usual. He’s dead on his feet, warming up leftover pasta in the microwave. The apartment is quiet.

Not for long.

His phone goes off. The vibrations help it move around the counter without a human hand to guide it. Chris waits for a minute to open up the microwave door and take out the bowl with the pasta in it, sticking a fork down the middle. Only then does he put it down and answer.

“Hello, Chris.”

His brain recognizes the voice as being something from the bank up above, he just can’t name specifics just yet. “H’llo?”

“Hi, it’s Auston Matthews--don’t hang up. I have to talk to you about Mitch. Where is he?”

It’s been a long day and he’s tired but the drop of Mitch’s name shocks him into an alert state. He understands that he’s playing with fire. One wrong move here will burn him.

“What the fuck are you asking me for? I haven’t seen shit.”

“If you’re lying to me--“ 

“Matthews, even if I did know where my brother is, which I don’t thanks to you, the odds of me opening my mouth are stuck at zero. Piss off and leave me and my family alone.”

Matthews doesn’t seem to be satisfied with that response. “I’m coming over anyway.”

“Like hell you are.” 

“Don’t leave town.”

“I--” He hears the beeping noise telling him that the line has been disconnected. 

Matthews has to compensate a lot for his ego here. Hanging up on someone before they can get the last word in is up there with the greats. 

One thing’s for sure, Matthews is never one to make an empty threat. Chris used to think the opposite but continuing to look the other way has only cost him a brother. The best thing he can do to prepare is not make it look like he’s covering up for Mitch. He makes up some excuse to get his roommates out the door so that they won’t see what’s about to transpire. They’re good guys, he doesn’t want them to get hurt.

It’s like waiting on an examination. You’re in the doctor’s office with the television screen only playing black and white movies from a decade long since gone with a table of magazines in the corner talking about everything from global warming and the failed carbon tax to which beauticians got a license to inject botox into the face this time. The appointment is locked in but at what point you get called in is up in the air. That’s how it feels. 

The pounding on his door comes an hour and a half later. Chris drains his glass of grapefruit juice before getting up to answer it. There’s nothing alcoholic in his body, he figures that’s for the best. Being lucid is the best defence against people like this. His time in London has also bestowed upon him the knowledge that he should never go into these things unarmed. He grabs a pistol from the safe in his bedroom closet to jam into his back pocket, in case of an emergency. 

He only opens the door a notch, enough to see Matthews’ eye and busted up lip. The second they make eye contact, Matthews lifts up his leg and winds a kick that propels the door forward. It hits Chris as it swings open, revealing the empty apartment.

Chris is reeling from the blow and the bruises it will leave behind. He kneels down on the floor, clutching his knee. “I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing here, but you need to get out now.”

Matthews is not even looking at him. He’s surveying his surroundings, probably thinking about turning the place upside down.

“I’m simply checking to see if you have any fugitives lying about, that’s all,” he says, his head rotating to the side to take the whole room in.

Chris brandishes his pistol. He points it right at Matthews’ heart. Matthews puts one hand in the air, the other hanging by his side.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Chris. I could never do that to Mitch.”

One name is all it takes for months of speculation to come true. 

“Where is he?”

“He’s safe.”

“That’s a lie, you fucking psycho.”

“Shoot me now and you’ll never see him again.”

Chris’s trigger finger trembles. It would be so easy to just do it. Ending Matthews’ life would do good for so many people, Mitch included.

“Don’t you want to hear the whole story of what happened?” Matthews drops out into the open.

He’s buying time, they both know that. Curiosity is all that protects Matthews now and lucky for him, Chris’ desire to know what grievous torture his brother experienced overpowers the decision to put a few holes in Matthews. 

“What.” His voice is flat.

“He got fired from his job, you know. Had nowhere to go. He called me up and I said he could stay with me.” 

He ducks his head. Matthews is not smiling but he has this quirk of the lips that Chris remembers always being on his face. It makes you feel like he’s making a mockery of you, like he knows more than he’s letting on. In this case, that’s probably very true.

“I didn’t mean to take him away from you. He told me he texted you so I assumed all was well and good.”

“He texted me, once. It sounded like something written by a hostage.”

“I guess he was afraid of what you’d say. He’s happy now though. I think he’ll be staying with me for a while longer.”

“What happy, content person runs away with no notice? Why did you call me looking for him? Where is he?”

Mitch was with Matthews and now he isn’t. Auston is getting a taste of his own medicine. Chris can’t help but thank the part of his brother that would never lay down and expose his belly and the vengeful part of him that rears its ugly head when Mitch is at the end of his rope. 

Matthews made his first mistake in picking Mitch. He fell for the oldest trick in the book, thought the actor believed the script. Now, he’s trying to shave off all of Mitch’s edges to make the square peg fit the circle hole. It won’t work. 

Chris hopes that Mitch runs as fast as his little legs can take him. He wants to plunge Matthews into the same grief he’s had to endure for the last year. He wants to make it hurt.

Matthews takes his anger out on Chris in a long hour of misery. It starts with him pushing his way into the apartment, one hand grabbing Chris by the wrist and disarming him with a technique he must have practiced ten times over. Surprise gets the better of Chris and soon does his own incompetence. He feels his skin split and cut and can only think of his brother and what he must have gone through, how brave he was to get out when he could.

**November 27, 2026**

He gets a visitor one night, at the store when he’s on break. He has fifteen minutes to speak with him. The clock is ticking down.

“I don’t have much time,” Kadri says. He looks scared. Even the towering walls of whole wheat cereal don’t appear to give him much protection. You think if someone was coming after him he wouldn’t be hiding in a very public grocery store.

Chris spares no small talk. “What’s there to talk about?”

It’s public knowledge that Kadri defected. Chris would love to kick his teeth in but there are eyes everywhere and this has to be the one good thing he’s been able to maintain. 

“I have to leave Toronto, it’s not safe anymore. You deserve to know what happened.”

“Matthews told me.”

“Yeah, his side of the story. I can tell you what really happened, unless you just don’t want to know.”

“So tell me, ‘cause clearly you want me to know.”

Kadri takes a deep breath. “I’m sure you know by now that Mitch didn’t go of his own volition, he was kidnapped.”

Chris did suspect it. Still, the truth hurts like a punch to the gut. “Okay,” he says, trying to play it cool.

“Mitch was stuck in Auston’s apartment for so long; when I saw him again he wasn’t the same. Auston was putting him through school so that he could work for him.”

“Why would he risk that?”

“Mitch wanted it more than anything, and it was also supposed to be a distraction so that Auston could marry him.”

His heart dives out of his chest. “They’re married?”

“No. At least, not yet.” Kadri makes it sound like he’s questioning himself on that slice of information. “Mitch ran away with a defector just weeks after finding out what Auston was up to.”

“So, he’s still out there.” 

Kadri’s face sobers up. It’s all of Chris’ worst fears come true. It’s the same expression he remembers seeing on the faces of the police officers when they were telling him about dropping the abduction case.

“No, Auston found them. The defector abandoned Mitch and Auston took him home. I haven’t seen him since.” He stores his breath in his cheeks, makes his words come out airy. “It was a big deal, you know? Now, it’s all gone to shit. Tavares is in Toronto and the fighting between the Leafs and the Islanders is on another level: seismic, really. They want Mitch back. He gives them some leverage over Auston.”

“Mitch isn’t a fucking object.”

“Well, he’s in too deep, no one can get him out now. Not even me, and I tried my best, man. I thought you should know what’s going on, being his only family and all.”

An elderly lady walking by hits his side with her cart. Chris doesn’t even move when it happens. Waves of blood pulse in his ears, reducing the world around him fuzzy lines.

He’s quiet for a long time before he finds his voice. He’s lost all feeling in his fingers from the way he’s clenching them. The fingertips are cold.

“Can I ask you something?” says Chris.

“Sure. Anything.”

“Matthews, he...he had a thing with Mitch in London, right?”

Kadri is patient with him, must know how Chris is stepping around the crimes _he’s_ been accused of to look at himself for a change, even if his betrayal is as bitter as ever. “Yes, they met because of the weapons exchange deal back in December. Auston called him back and they would occasionally meet up, at least that’s my understanding of it.”

“I knew it was happening.” Chris pauses. “Well, in hindsight I knew, I just didn’t put the pieces together until it was too late.”

If guilt is a bear trap, the spines are closing in on Kadri. The words fly out of his throat. Kadri keeps trying to push them down but it’s a chemical reaction.

“Forgive me,” he blurts out. It brings the world around them to a stop.

“What?”

“It was my fault that Mitch went to Toronto,” he says, coming close to looking as if he’s in the midst of a panic attack, “and I have to live with that for the rest of my life.”

“Fucking what?” 

Chris speaks just loud enough to get the attention of some shoppers nearby, one with a family. They shush him. Chris has to clench the muscles in his jaw to keep from doing something stupid to get back at them in his acrimonious state.

“I thought he’d be better off there. You and I both knew London was going down. Mitch would be killed. I wanted to save his life, so I told Auston everything. I even tried to get Mitch to defect myself but that didn’t work.”

“You’re the reason he’s there?”

Kadri holds one hand up, realizing he’s poked the sleeping bear here. “I didn’t know how crazy Auston was for him. I thought it was an innocent, puppy dog kind of love. That’s what Auston made it look like. I didn’t know how obsessed he was. I thought Auston would give Mitch a cushy life away from everything. I’m sorry. I wish I knew but I didn’t.”

Someone has taken a cheese grater to Chris’ internal organs.

He wants to scream. He wants to rip the service vest he has on and tackle Kadri to the ground, fracture his nose and pull out his eyes. He wants to put him through the same torment inflicted on his brother for as long as possible.

He does none of that. He’s mute. Someone has cut all of his strings, neutered the parts of him that go to violence first. Kadri is already suffering the consequences. From the sounds of it, he’s already on shaky ground. Having to leave behind the city that loved him will be the worst punishment of all. Chris hopes he goes somewhere cold and snowy, isolated from human activity. He hopes he spends the rest of his days looking out the window and wondering if he should jump.

Kadri leaves without saying another word to him, head hanging low, hoodie pulled up. Chris has to clean up a juice spill on aisle three.

**April 3, 2027**

The orange paper masking overdue bills is typical, the navy pocket of sorts not. He picks it up for better inspection and flaps open the inside pocket. The stock paper backing the card weeps glitter on his hand, tangling in with his arm hair. 

On the belly band sits large cursive letters. It takes two seconds to read the names and for the silver tag to be shucked free and disposed of in the trash can.

He goes back the next morning, unsure if he was hallucinating what he saw. It’s a wedding invitation for June. It’s so close to the first of April he could almost pass it off as a joke. Matthews already has him losing his marbles on the simplest of things, throwing him a curveball should be no big deal.

Wedding. Being united in marriage. He’s only been to two in all his years as an adult and both of them have been two people eloping, grabbing the certificate for benefits and leaving. Many people he knew that were considering it didn’t make it to the point of engagement. The common scenarios would be them passing on or being unable to work through disagreements from external problems in their life. Being stuck in the purgatory that was the boyfriend-girlfriend relationship was probably your safest bet.

He knew this was coming, it was only a matter of time. He just didn’t think it would be this soon. He didn’t think he would be invited, unless this is a power trip. It’s unlikely Matthews wants him there for anything but to gloat. 

Chris ends up keeping the invitation. His thoughts ripen; maybe he will go. It’s probably the last time he will have a hold on Mitch’s location. This is the one time it matters.

He starts preparing a speech.

**June 20, 2027**

He arrives at the reception having not sucked up the guts to watch the aisle proceedings. Inside is an intimate spool of guests all fashioned in white and navy colour schemes, with cocktail and mermaid dresses with trains so long Chris trips on them twice. Every table has some large quinceanera centrepiece that compliments the winter setting. The spring magnolia flowers are glittered with rhinestones and sitting in a plump display, shaped by the waist where the trumpet thin vase holds them.

The venue stays classy, lined with champagne flutes and pearl plating. It’s so out of his world. He remembers the old television marathons with mom, with the young brides fresh from their engagement coming together to build that dream wedding. Looking at the three-tier marble cake, he’s back at those nights with his mother’s arms around him. He pleads that they stay that way, just for a few more minutes. He’d like to think his mother is with him this time, to make sure he keeps good on his promise to her. 

The cake has got sugar peonies wrapped around the base, freckled with a coat of gold leaf. A few slices have been cut, revealing a navy blue, buttercream base. What should deliver hunger pangs fists a hand in his stomach. He follows the servers who are serving the guests and finds what he’s looking for.

At the head of the table sits his darling baby brother, all dolled up with his hair let down. There are things present that Chris never remembers seeing before: scars on the side of his face and sunken cheeks. Both shoulders have something blue on them and can be seen through his white shirt now that he has his suit jacket off. It’s not a bruise. It looks deliberate and permanent. Besides that, he’s aged well. He’s older now than before but still with that air of innocence you can’t fake.

Chris has many unkindly words for the monster to his side. His time is better spent on the empty shell, however. He draws near, on pace to reach them before the main course and dessert plates are removed. 

Catatonia haunts the image of a fork meshing with cake. How Mitch can eat at a time like this is beyond Chris.

“Well, you must be happy for yourself.” The chip of glass from the rim of the champagne flutes quiets down.

“Chris.” The plain smile bruises him. “It’s good to see you.”

“Can we talk?”

“Of course we can.”

“Alone.”

Chris raising his voice grabs the attention of some of the guests to Mitch’s side. Hired men. They’re supposed to be spectators but come with guns strapped to the sides and chest. They will jump to his aid, if need be.

Mitch laughs, awkwardly, to try and dispel the tension. “I can’t leave the table.”

“Why not? Did Matthews put you up to this?”

“Because we’re about to make a toast.”

A plastic case traps his brother inside the image of a mob wife. The real Mitch is locked inside with only the eye holes to look out from, watching the whole thing unfold and being helpless to stop it. Chris thinks he sees him a few times as they’re talking.

He doesn’t even want to think about what Matthews did to Mitch after his failed escape to hammer out any thoughts of leaving him again. The engagement must have been the reward at the end, a prize for completing his training. This wedding is evidence that Matthews feels he has enough of Mitch under control to consider presenting him to the public like this.

And it’s working. Mitch isn’t stepping out of line, not even with family here. He keeps smiling. And smiling. And smiling. He probably only knows two people here, Chris included in the count. Knowing other people is a danger to Matthews’ ego. This should be hell for him.

Chris takes a deep breath. “I need to speak with you. Alone.”

“Chris, I’m busy.”

“Mitch, I’m not asking.”

Matthews says nothing the whole time, doesn’t need to. Everything is playing out according to plan. The gamemaster doesn’t get his hands dirty.

“Chris, please take your seat.”

“I’m not fucking sitting down. Either I speak with you or I’m leaving and you won’t ever see me again.”

He sticks to his guns. Ultimatums are pretty much the only way he’s going to get Mitch to listen to him. Husband or not, Matthews will never be able to fill the hole his family left behind.

That grabs Mitch’s attention. He’s back on planet Earth for a second, his lips splitting. The seam falls undone. 

The party guests seem to realize Chris is not one of them. The world stops spinning for a minute and lets them think. 

“Five minutes,” comes a voice to Mitch’s left. On command, Mitch stands up.

It leaves a bitter taste in Chris’ mouth to be just another pawn to move around but he’s not going to get mad about it at a time like this; sometimes you need to follow the rules. Mitch walks him out to the lobby. A few guests are standing close by but look too busy sipping their lemon drop champagne to be paying attention to them. Inside, the music blares. The party continues without the host.

Mitch turns to face him. “What did you want to talk about?”

“ _You_ , for God’s sake. Mitch! You’re here.”

Mitch looks around. “Yeah. What about it?”

“You’re not more surprised to see me? It’s been _years_.” His voice doubles back on itself and becomes a wail. Mitch doesn’t fall into the feedback loop. He resists it.

“I’ve texted you.”

“One time. You texted me once. You never called me, you never came home, you never did anything!”

“Quit yelling at me, I was busy.” Even he seems to realize how stupid it sounds when he puts it into words. His eyes pinch.

“Busy what? Being held captive by some psycho in his own house?”

“That never happened.”

Chris’ hand falls down his cheek. “What else am I supposed to believe? You don’t know anything about Matthews. You think you do but you don’t.”

“What do I have to say to you to make you understand that I’m okay?” 

Chris points a finger at Mitch. “I want you to take a good, long look at yourself and ask why you’re looking at your older brother, who has been gone from your life for years, the way you are.”

“You make it sound like you were Mother Theresa to me growing up.”

He’s got Chris there. “Sure, I wasn’t a perfect brother but I’m leagues better than the scum you married. At least I’ll admit I was wrong!”

Mitch shows a little teeth. “Don’t call him that.”

“I’ll call him whatever the fuck I want.”

“You are ruining my special day!” Mitch screams. For a second, Chris can see the original Mitch there. Finally able to voice anger in the one way he’s allowed to, against his own family. The fact Matthews isn’t here to supervise means one thing. 

Mitch goes on: “He loves me, which is more than can ever be said for you!”

“Excuse me?”

“You took my hopes and dreams over the years and ground them under your foot! You did everything you could to make the world as cruel and unforgiving to me as you could. You revelled in having me as your servant. Now that I have a life of my own, you can’t stand it, can you?”

“You had a life Mitch, outside of here. What happened to that? Olivia? Your job?”

“You said those dreams were foolish. You belittled me for even trying. So here I am, not trying. I’m doing better than ever.”

“Not everything has to be a stab at me, Mitch! Can’t you just do what’s best for you?”

“What’s best isn’t working minimum wage my whole life. I have a family that loves me and a home of my very own. You’re just jealous that despite all the years of you telling me I would live in a box in the alley you turned out to be wrong.”

“Well, just look at you, Cinderella. Hope you love sweeping floors for the rest of your life.”

Mitch’s face scrunches up. “What is your problem? I’m finally happy and Christ, you’re just so _bitter.”_

“I’m not the one who has fucking deluded himself into thinking his abuser is going to give him his happily ever after.”

“You should at least be able to tolerate who I choose to be with. I’m not asking you to fall in love with him, I’m asking you to respect my choices.”

“You know what you say, ignorance is just enabling an addict to keep getting their fix.”

“Oh look at you, taking the moral high ground for the first time in your life.” Mitch dunks his voice in false-celebratory tones. “You don’t know anything!”

 _Because you won’t tell me,_ Chris wants to scream at him. He knows Mitch will never. That’s how the fucking world works, unfortunately. 

There comes a point in every argument, the saving grace as Chris calls it, when you have to assess the other person’s mental state. It came in handy back when he was negotiating deals for London. Are they capable of being saved? Can you change their mind? If the answer is no, you have to drop everything. You’re never going to be able to terminate their train of thought. The waters in the chasm that holds their brain can’t be cleaned by a word filter; they’re going to die with their beliefs.

Someone had tapped into Mitch’s sanity back when he first ran. It was their functioning logic that got Mitch to jump in the back of a van and only leave behind fingerprints and spit-salted glasses as a memory of his time in Matthews’ apartment. They would have had to do some digging to even find the part of Mitch that would kick and scream for help but they did. Mitch was capable of being saved back then. 

When Matthews got him back, he would be going at his work again with a new type of conditioning that lies flat on what he’s already built. It doesn’t replace the stitches that were torn up but dresses them in new fabric. It spins designs and patterns that are so easy on the eyes it’s hard to find the site of distress. It makes Mitch feel stupid for wanting to go. It makes him think that life with Matthews _is_ him being saved.

The bow on top is the new protection measures. Men in the mob don’t make the same mistakes twice. Now that Mitch is more valuable than ever, he would only get the best treatment. Purifying. Injected with a large dosage of Matthews’ love in one of his many explorations in self-medicating.

He looks at his brother, dressed up in his own delusions. On his way to graduating with a rich husband by his side, a kingpin in Toronto’s growing economy. They just make the picture perfect family, don’t they? All they’re missing are the two kids.

He’s never going to not beat himself up for not intervening back when Auston was just a twenty-something kid with only the skin on his back and Mitch was still his little brother, who looked at him like he was his entire world; back when he trusted Chris to protect him from the world’s evils. 

He sides with Kadri on this one. He didn’t know. How could he? 

Matthews walks up behind him. He makes his presence known to Mitch with a hand on the shoulder. “Go home, Chris.”

Chris looks back and forth between the two of them. There’s a common theme now when it comes to speaking with Matthews. Ordering people around comes second nature to him. Now he’s got his brother in on the gig.

One thing’s for sure, he’s not going to give Mitch the satisfaction of supporting him today. Mitch is alone this time, for real. One day, years down the line, he will wake up and realize his friends aren’t really his friends, his husband is obsessed with an idea, and everything about his marriage is a lie.

With that said, Chris says his last goodbye, leaving behind the happy couple.

**September 2, 2028**

Every once in a while he gets curious and googles their names. Matthews is everywhere in insurance, probably tied to the bogus claims the government was cracking down on months ago. Mitch is starting to breach into the public arena now too. He’s championing public relations on the side, there at project unveilings by Matthews’ side. 

They look like the power couple you see on television. So many people in the field want to be them and Chris has to sew his mouth shut to stop himself from correcting them.

He works up to a manager position, gets himself a Cockapoo dog he calls Fanta, and makes time every Monday night to try adding a new recipe to his cookbook. Life becomes as good as it gets. 

For safekeeping, he doesn’t delete the contact in his phone in Mitch’s name. He tries to, many times. The number is probably dead anyway, he reasons. He could be blocked. Any number of tricks, really. Every time, he foils his own plans. Mitch needs someone in his life that’s transparent. 

If it takes him years, Chris will wait years. He promised he would.

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S DONE.
> 
> The same warnings for previous entries in the series apply here: the relationship between Auston and Mitch is emotionally abusive and based on the trappings of stockholm syndrome; Auston is not physically abusive but Chris projects this onto him to help build a case as to why he should dislike him and why Mitch is in immediate danger. Chris coerces his brother into acting as a honeypot (designed to use his youth as a way to trap men and women into making deals for London) and guilts Mitch using their innate poverty and mother’s illness into getting him to do what he wants. Chris has little sympathy for his brother's problems and at the end gives up on saving him because he believes Mitch is both a) too far gone and b) wants to be where he is. This can be interpreted as loose victim blaming. It is implied that young men and teenagers have died in the midst of gang violence inside of the story, some of these deaths might be graphic. Chris and Mitch's mother dies offscreen and there's a burial. Chris imagines a lot of things happening to Mitch that have no proof or evidence of occurring but may be triggering content all the same. Proceed with caution.
> 
> come talk to me @cursivecherrypicking on tumblr !


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